


Point Taken

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pointless canon-verse porn in a broom closet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point Taken

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kinda easy?” America taunted, voice already low and hot, the breaking of his words no doubt stroking England’s ego as sure as his fingers were stroking his cock . England’s teeth sunk into his neck, just above a collar wilted by an afternoon spent in a too warm conference room. America tightened his hold on England’s tie and pulled, jerking his head back before the jerk left a hickey that he’d have to explain when they came tumbling out of yet another storage room or broom closet or whatever the hell this cramped little love nook was supposed be    looking like been doing exactly what they were about to to do. 

England’s eyes were hooded and his grin was as smug as his response when he slid his hand down America’s pants and squeezed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

He groaned and shoved England against the wall, hauling him up on his tip toes as he wished he was just a little bit taller so he lord it over England while he pressed their bodies together and rocked into the rough slip of palm over his dick. He thought about how damned ancient England was and how he probably didn’t really want to know half of all the crazy things he’d seen and done when he was trying to get his tongue into England’s mouth and make him moan for it. 

“I wouldn’t want to know,” American retorted, ignoring England’s mocking laughter as he licked the curve of England’s jaw and pushed two fingers beneath the knot of his tie to loosen the collar and bite down the length of his throat. “But that’s not what I meant.”

England smirked at him, tongue flicking over the lips America was had grand plans of making even wetter and redder. “Oh? Then you had better enlighten me before I start telling wicked tales.” 

“I meant that you’re damned easy to read. Maybe getting predictable in your old age.” American murmured in England’s ear as he fumbled with the belt and the button and zipper that kept him from better feeling the hard slide of cock in and out of his hand. England’s scornful snort turned into a sigh and America wanted to reward him for such niceties, kissing him sweetly while he gave a little flick of the wrist and brush of the thumb and England stepped free from the trappings of professionalism. America laughed, “Halfway through my five-point plan and you had this look on your face that always means as soon as Germany lets us go for the day, I’m gonna end up in some dark room your tongue down my throat.”

England pushed him away, doubtless to glare at him like he was still was a backwater kid who didn’t have a clue, but all America could see was the flush on on his cheeks and the arch of his eyebrows, and he knew that England knew that what he’d said was God’s honest truth.

England totally had a thing for him when he commanded a room, when he got up and talked big, England got hard and wanted him bad and they’d ended up like this, tangled and rushed and rough and really, really good. So good that England would ignore him for hours afterwards and America would have to settle for watching him idly touch the little love bites he’d left where no else could see until England drank enough whiskey or softened enough to remember that when they went home together and had time and a bed…that’s when it got even better.

But now, England was pushing his dick into the circle of his fist and murmuring,  ”Maybe its not that I’m predictable, but more so that I’m always so surprised when something intelligent comes out of your mouth I’m reminded of how much I like it when its wrapped around my cock.”

America muffled his groan in England’s neck, only to have it further dampened by a wrinkled dress shirt as two hands splayed over his shoulders and pushed down, just hard enough for the intention to be unmistakable. 

“I can’t believe you’d need a reminder, asshole,” America muttered, licking the bottom of England’s haughty chin and cupping his balls, tugging a little to remind him that he wasn’t anyone’s lackey. “When I think about how loud you begged for it after the G-8, I tempted to gag you with your tie so you don’t get us caught like that time in Basel.”

“Prick.”

“Oh, I love it when you call me names, baby.” America mocked, just to see England’s gaze narrow and his cheeks flush in response to the name he loathed and America adored because England loathed it. He flicked England’s face with the silk he’d ruined between his fingers, sliding it over his lips as he watched his eyes shut and his lips open and close with each gently roll of America’s hand between his legs. “So, better bite down on this while I reintroduce you to all the many ways I’m good with with my tongue.” 

England’s hands were already in his hair by time his knees hit the ground and he had one hand on his cock and his lips pressed to England’s stomach, shirttails brushing his cheek as he licked a from right to left and ignored the greedy thrust of England’s hips. America smiled and slid his tongue over each hip bone and down the crease of his thigh, feeling the heat of England’s cock so close to his face. He stroked himself and breathed out hot and slow up the curve of England’s shaft, teasing because sometimes England presumed too much and it was good to make him want it—make him want America just a little more than he wanted England, at least for the minute he lasted before his self-control gave out and he was parting his lips over England’s cock and going down, down, down. 

England was all salt and pushy insistence, hips arching off the wall and hands pulling at his hair, almost knocking his glasses off when America smiled and dragged his tongue from base to tip and raked blunt nails down the quiver of England’s thighs. He was on his knees and England’s cock was sliding in and out of his mouth while he hummed and brushed his palm back and forth over England’s balls but America didn’t hear any of England’s usual breathless aspersions on his character or moaning thoughtless terms of endearment.

Confused, concerned that maybe England wasn’t as susceptible to that little trick he did with his tongue, America peered up the length of England’s disheveled body and groaned as he took in the beauty that was England—always so damned proud and prickly—with the blue silk of his tie between his lips. His cheeks were stained red and his eyes were closed, but it was the damp on the fabric and the way England was biting at it is so desperately that was hottest thing America had seen since that weekend they spent in Thailand. 

With a sigh he kissed England’s hip, his stomach, anywhere but his cock until England was looking at him, all hazy eyed and impatient. America wanted to show him his smile, wanted England to look down and see how hard it made him when England was like this, restrained lack of restraint in his desperation and desire. It was a feeling America knew too damned well, what it was like to be greedy for England, to want to have all of him all the time and there was something so satisfying in a nice tie ruined all because England couldn’t help himself when America was on his knees. 

England’s fingers drifted down his cheek, tracing the metal frames of his glasses and then hot, sore stretch of his jaw as America parted his lips once more and took England’s cock against his tongue. He held England’s stare and spread his legs a little further so maybe England could watch the way America touched himself as he swallowed around England’s cock, opening his throat and enjoying the sight of England’s teeth clenching the tie.

England’s eyes closed and his head knocked against the wall, the first noise he’d made since America had first kissed the tip of his dick and America decided it was time to pick up the pace, to slide his hand down the slickness of England’s cock and suck him a little harder, a little faster. Now he wanted to hear him, wanted to hear the way his name broke on lips that were more prone to scoff than sigh, so he could think about all the other times he’d had that filthy whisper in his ear in the countless times they’d fucked. But England was just as stubborn as they’d both ever been and the tie remained between his lips just as surely as England’s cock was in his mouth, salt and heat sliding over his tongue. 

It wasn’t until England was arching off the wall and doubling over with his hands on America’s broad shoulders, coming thick and fast down his throat that he got to hear what he’d been missing, the rough murmurs and gasping sighs. America stroked and licked and swallowed to hear a little more, to feel the tremble of his thighs and the clench of his fingers and the syllables of his name. But England never gave him everything he wanted to very long because within a minute he was being kissed and his hand was being covered by England’s familiar touch, lacing their fingers together and stroking his cock. He let England taste himself on his tongue and let him listen to all the moans he’d muffled with England between his lips and rocked into their hands, chasing England as he came. 

England slumped against him, pulling the ruined tie from around his neck and wiping their hands with the stained silk before shoving it in his pocket and telling America he owed him a new tie. America laughed breathlessly and shifted in his half-undone pants until England’s post-coital weight wasn’t cutting off his circulation, kissing England’s throat and his cheek and finally the satisfied scowl of his mouth. 

“Your second convincing performance of the day, brava,” England muttered dryly, though the taunt was lessened by the way he curled in closer and parted his lips for America’s lazy kiss. 

America thought of all the things he could still do with that silk tie, how to prove to England why he had a reputation as good speaker and good innovator. He thought about how big his bed was in the hotel and how there was no way they could go to any sort of party now without once again being the weekend scandal. He thought about how nice it would be if sometimes he and England were both a little easy for one another.

“Hey, how about coming home with me?”


End file.
